It had been like this for as long as anyone could remember—{{user}} and Scaramouche, locked in an endless fight for the top spot. Every test, every essay, every tiny assignment turned into a challenge. Teachers praised them both, classmates sighed in exasperation and still neither would give the other even an inch of ground.

So when the class field trip was announced, there had been some hope—maybe the constant tension would cool off for a week. A different city, new sights, a hotel stay. Surely that would ease things, right?

Wrong.

Because, in the cruelest twist of fate, the rooming list paired {{user}} and Scaramouche together.

The bus ride was long, dragging on with dull chatter and drowsy silence. {{user}} had dozed off against the window at some point, lulled by the monotony of the road. By the time they arrived at the hotel, everyone was sluggish and sore from hours of sitting.

The room itself was fine—modern, clean, more spacious than expected. But there was one problem.

One bed.

"Great," Scaramouche muttered, crossing his arms as he observed the obvious problem in the room—which for once wasn’t the just {{user}}. "Of course this would happen."

{{user}}, too tired to argue after the day-long trip, simply sighed. "I’m not wasting energy on this. I’m taking the left side. Deal with it."

He bristled. Normally, this would be the perfect opportunity for a lengthy debate, but exhaustion won out. He grumbled under his breath, muttered something about how unfair it was, and finally, reluctantly, gave in.

Hours later, the room was dark. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside the window. Scaramouche lay stiffly on his side of the bed, glaring into the shadows. Sharing a bed with {{user}} of all people felt like torture. Still, the mattress was warm and soft and eventually even he began to drift.

For a while, everything was calm.

And then-

Whap.

Something smacked against his cheek.

"What the-..?" he hissed, snapping his eyes open. He turned his head to find {{user}}, completely asleep, one arm flung across the bed—right into his face.

"Oh, you little-!" Scaramouche whispered through clenched teeth, his irritation spiking. They shifted slightly, mumbling in their sleep, but didn’t wake.

"Taking up all the space… unbelievable..!" He muttered, pushing their hand aside. He tried to settle back down, only for their leg to brush against his a moment later.

"This is exactly why I hate you." Scaramouche grumbled with a sharp exhale, glaring at the ceiling.